The Old Hunger
by Mikayla-Alice
Summary: Marisse is chosen to compete in the 100th annual Games with a man she hates...can she triumph in the end? Some parts from the original Hunger Games, but mostly fan-made.***Edit! Recently Updated! I know it took a while! :D ***
1. Chapter 1

*** The 100th Hunger Games...this is gonna be a big one. And Marisse is pretty sure she's going to die. Huh. Well, at least stupid, arrogant, ANNOYING Derrick will die with her. Sort of goes along with the Hunger Games' actual events, but a little different. ***

**1—Broken**

"_I—I didn't! No, I swear!" I thrashed against the hard grip of the baker, the old loaf falling to the ground as he rips me away from it. _

"_Aye, ya did, ya little beggar! Ya stole it from me, ya thief!" His rough voice grates against my eardrums and he drops me to the ground, the edge of my ribbon catching on something—I don't know what—and untying from my head. My unruly black curls fall into my face, and I start to panic as I can't see. _

"_I didn't!" I still protest, pushing my hair away from my face. _

"_Ya did, I saw ya!" The baker grabs a broom nearby and raises it. I cringe back against the glass case of bread and prepare for what will most likely be a rough impact. _

"_Dad, don't!" I suddenly hear a cry—the voice cracks at the end, and I stifle a laugh as I already know that whoever said it is a boy, and he's a teenager. _

_I open my eyes and see a boy with sandy curls and bright, glittering blue eyes gripping the broom with a strong, muscled arm. His sympathetic eyes fall on my own, which are the same blue as his. But I'm sure mine aren't nearly as magnificent. _

_I take this moment of hesitation from the baker to scramble up and sprint out the front door. _

"_Now look, she got away, ya useless boy!" I heard a sharp crack as the broom came down hard on the boy, and I cringed. _I'm sorry, baker boy, _I thought, letting a single tear come down my cheek._

***

That was three years ago. I was a mere twelve years old, too naive to realize that Derrick wasn't actually my savior...more like my own personal annoyance.

He would never let me forget that stupid, stupid day in the bakery. Every day on the streets, if I walked by, he'd flash me a toothy grin and say, "You're welcome, thief." Do you know how many times I've nearly decked him in the face?

"You're welcome, thief," I hear a familiar voice say as I pay the vegetable seller for my bag of produce. I turn, a glare at the ready.

"I have a name, you know. It's Marisse," I hissed. He gave me a smirk.

"But 'Thief' just suits you so much better. Goes with your face." He gives me a light tap on the cheek with two fingers. My hand shoots up as I grab his two fingers and squeeze as tightly as I can. I smile in satisfaction as I see just the slightest bit of pain in his endless eyes. Derrick rips his fingers away and flexes them, simmering with a fresh glare.

"So what was that about faces?" I said smugly.

"I was saying yours would be nice if you took care of it," Derrick seethed. "You've got zits all over it. Take some pride, will you?" And with that he turned on his heel and marched away. My mouth fell open and I turned, leaning over the nearest barrel of water.

In my reflection I saw a girl of fifteen, with blue eyes and what could be pretty hair if she'd kept it neat. She had an okay face, although she was beginning to get frown lines. She had a freckle on the outer corner of her left eye and a scar just above her right eyebrow from when she fell out of a tree when she was eight.

I only saw one small zit on my chin, barely noticeable.

Do you know how much I hate him?

***

"_There's only one person who could understand what I'm saying. She's here, now, with me. And there's not a place in the world I'd rather be. I take her hand and try not to fall over in excitement and joy and euphoria. Glancing up at the stars that twinkle like her eyes—a corny line if there ever was one—I realize something....There's morning dew on the night sky; I stare in wonder at this feat, and soon my troubles are forgotten."_

—_from Derrick Hannigan's notebook_

_***_

It's the eve of the reaping. Perhaps that's why Derrick was so snippy.

I carry the vegetables home to our small farm on the outer edge of District Twelve. It's not much, just a few chickens, a cow, two horses, and a mule. A tiny vegetable garden (one that obviously doesn't work) is withering in the back yard.

I set the vegetables on the front porch and open my arms as I hear Donica's feet. She leaps into my waiting arms and I smile at her, trying not to get a mouthful of her wild brown curls. My sister is only five, and isn't in the drawing for another few years. This I can be thankful for.

My brother, Erric, comes in the doorway and leans against the side of it, crossing his arms and glaring at me.

"Marisse," he said quietly, "I need to talk to you." His dark green eyes warn me to not bring anything up in front of Donica.

"Um, sure." I put Donica down. "Why don't you go bring in the vegetables for me?" I ask her. She nods and brings them in, knowing that we need to talk alone. She may be just five, but she's quite smart.

Erric and I go to the place where we usually talk—the loft just above our tiny barn. I settle myself on the familiar horse blanket lying near the bales of hay. My brother looks at me angrily, picking up a piece of straw and ripping it apart.

"I can't believe you," he said angrily. He looks at me, his eyes furious. "You took out _tesserae?_"

My cheeks turned red and I looked at the floor, knowing my secret had been revealed.

"How did you find out?" I said quietly.

"_Derrick _told me." Erric looked at me pointedly. I jerked my head up, my cheeks still red, but in anger.

"Only two...how does he know?" I shouted furiously.

"He saw you down at the office," Erric said distractedly, "But that isn't the point. You're so _stupid!_"

"For what?" I shouted, getting up, "For realizing that we're nearly out of money? ThatDonica has been wearing dresses that haven't fit her for years? That your boots are nearly falling apart, or that this damn barn and this damn house are a few moments away from being damn piles of toothpicks?!" I stood, fuming, as my brother looked up at me. He got up and faced me, his eyes softening a bit.

"I knew all that," he said angrily. "You don't think I noticed? You should have let _me _take them out—it's my last year and they won't accumulate next year, dummy!"

I stare furiously at my brother for a moment, thinking of things to say; stuff to counteract with. But there was nothing. Erric was right.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly, "I didn't think of that, but..." I sighed, "I just wanted to help."

Erric smiled at me weakly. "I know. But you seriously should have come to me first, 'Risse," he said, using my nickname.

"I know." I quietly kept my eyes on the floor. My brother pulled me into a hug and I turned my face into his shirt, trying not to cry. "I messed up," I said.

"Yeah," Erric said.

"Really bad," I added.

"Mhm," he agreed. "But you thought you were doing the right thing. Which doesn't make it nearly as bad."

I shut my eyes for a moment, and for a second, I was ten years old again, my older brother comforting me for doing something silly like falling out of a tree or eating a bug. Why couldn't things be like that again? Simple, easy to understand, blissfully ignorant...but I was a woman now. And whether I liked it or not, my mistakes were _my _mistakes. I couldn't blame my parents or my brother anymore.

It really, really sucks.

"Oh, I got your present," Erric said, stepping back and fishing into his pocket. He pulled out a silver locket, the edges of the little silver heart outlined in gold. Clumsily, he managed to get it open.

"Erric," I said breathlessly, "Its beautiful!" I saw my brother turn red.

"It's really nothing..."

"I'll go get yours! Hang on!" I said, excited. I jumped down onto the stack of hay and leaped onto the dirt. I ran inside quickly and fished out a small leather sack from under my bed. I ran back to the barn as fast as I could and thrust the sack into his hands.

"Whoa, what is it, it's heavy," Erric said, weighing it in his hands.

"Open it," I said, smiling.

I saw Erric's eyes light up as he opened the bag.

"Where in God's name did you get a _camera?_" Erric grinned at me.

"I called in a favor from Aunt Kharin. She even knows a guy on West Street who will print them for you really cheap." I smiled.

"But how did you know—"

"I see the way you stop and take in a moment. Why not keep it forever?" I said, smiling at how excited he was.

"Well, I know what picture's going in first." Erric stood beside me and extended his arm. "Smile!" He pressed down on the button as I grinned, and the flash nearly burst my eyes.

"Ow, hey!" I said, covering my eyes with my hands.

"Oh, stop being such a baby," he said, turning the camera to look at it.

***

Erric spent the rest of the day taking pictures of all of us, and somehow managed to figure out the camera's timer so we could get a picture of all of us together. I curled up in my bed that night with a warm feeling in my stomach. These were the most extravagant gifts we'd ever exchanged for the reaping.

And if only I'd known it would be my last.


	2. Chapter 2

*****A/N: This is as if Catching Fire and Mockingjay never existed. Just a note. And…here's what you've been waiting for…Peeta and Katniss! And their daughter. :) You're welcome. *****

2

My fingers found their way to my throat, locking around the necklace Erric had given me. He was still mad about the tesserae, I knew, but there wasn't anything I could do about it now. It was the day of the reaping. There was no going back.

Reiff Withers, the escort, looked out on the crowd of 12 with distaste. He was from 12, born and raised like me, and he hated these reapings just as much as we did. After the quick, Capitol-required speech, he drew from the boys bowl. _Please not Erric. Please not him. I can't volunteer for him, he can't volunteer for me—we'll be helpless. Anyone but him. Please, please, please—_

"Derrick Hastings," he calls out. My mouth falls open, and my eyes go to Derrick—my sworn enemy; the boy who saved me three long years ago. He stays composed, slowly walking up to the stage and shaking hands with Reiff. A woman in her late thirties—a previous victor; what was her name? Katniss. That was it. Katniss Everdeen—runs to him, throwing her hands around his neck. Katniss was a celebrity in 12. She wasn't anything particularly special—although she was very pretty and had an amazing talent with a bow—but she somehow managed to save herself, and her lover, Peeta Mellark, from the arena, which made her a legend. The fact that she survived President Snow's anger was an even bigger feat.

Peeta himself was stone-faced, shaking Derrick's hand and whispering something in his ear. A little girl—their daughter, Mayella, I think—tugs on his shirt. She's got Peeta's blue eyes and Katniss's long, wavy brown hair. She pulls on Derrick's shirt until he leans down. She plants a kiss on his cheek and says something, quietly. They'll replay it later, I know, so I don't strain to listen.

And, last but not least, Haymitch Abernathy. What a character. He claims to have been sober for sixteen years—though I highly doubt that. He's ancient by now—almost seventy—and would probably die if he drank. Knowing him, he'd probably still do it.

Haymitch is silent, surprisingly sober as he claps Derrick's shoulder. The victors all sit back down, and Haymitch takes Mayella into his lap, holding her still.

Reiff waits a few moments before digging his fingers into the girl's bowl. My heart pounds and as he pulls out the slip, it practically stops short. "Keera Van Aylen."

Everyone's eyes turn to the twelve-year-old Keera, who I've seen around town. She's so sick; I'm surprised she's even here. Her skin is sagging and ashen, and she's hobbling around on crutches. Her wide gray eyes—Seam eyes—are sunken into her sagging face. There's no way she'll live for more than ten minutes in the arena.

Someone has to do _something!_

Nobody speaks up. Nobody even coughs.

"I volunteer!" someone finally screams.

I'm relieved, for a moment, before I realize I'm the one who screamed the words out. Crap.

I feel my heart skip a beat as I walk over to the stage. I whirl around as I hear shouts. Erric's being held back by dozens of boys his age—he's screaming and swearing and spitting, and I know I'll get an earful later.

I swallow thickly and walk onto the stage, eyeing Derrick coldly for a moment before Katniss wraps me in a tight hug. "I know exactly why you did it—you'll feel pretty stupid later, trust me," she says, her gray eyes regarding me warmly. I nod, not trusting my voice. Peeta puts a hand on my shoulder.

"You remind me a lot of someone I know," he says, his eyes flicking towards Katniss for a moment. Mayella tugs on the bottom of my dress. I scoop her up, and she talks quietly into my ear.

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," she whispers quietly. I smile at her, suddenly seeing my sister in her blue eyes.

Reiff makes the closing speech as Derrick and I stand before the crowd quietly. There's no clapping at the end. Just a subtle pounding noise—and I realize that the crowd is stomping their feet. The sound gets louder, a crescendo, a roar that shakes the stage. I see the Capitol cameramen shaking on their feet, and I smirk.

We're interrupted by the screen behind the stage flickering to life. The president—Leonard Fitzer—regards us with cold brown eyes. "Citizens of District Twelve. I have a special announcement. As you all know, this will be the 100th Hunger Games. Quite a joyous occasion, despite the morbid consequences. So, for this Hunger Games, I have a special treat. In honor of our famous previous victors—" Fitzer's eyes flash to Katniss and Peeta— "—there will be two victors this year. Choose your ally wisely," Fitzer says, glaring down on me and Derrick with a smirk before disappearing.

And that's when the booing begins. People scream curse words at the screen where Fitzer used to be, cursing his name to the Devil and back. Peacekeepers begin firing into the crowd, and Derrick, Reiff, the victors, and I are all ushered away to the safety of the Justice Building.

Well. I glance over at Derrick as we walk inside. There may be a chance that I can save him. Not that I want to.

I wrap Donica in a hug so tight, I think I may have pulled an arm muscle. I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm in the Hunger Games—the 100th Hunger Games. Erric glares at me, but pulls me into a hug all the same. My parents join in, my mother's tired face breaking out into a smile as my father kisses the top of my head.

"We're so proud of you," Mother says, "You did it for all the right reasons."

The train whistle sounds, and I hug and kiss my family goodbye before jumping on the train. I wave to them out the window, tears streaming down my face as I realize that I may not ever see them again. I turn around and see Derrick, staring stonily out the window. I realize nobody even came to say goodbye to him. He was going into this alone.

I sit down on one of the plush benches. I had never ridden a train before, and it was such a wondrous machine. I felt the heat from the pipes on my legs, and I pulled them up into my chest, wrapping my arms around my knees. I glance over at Katniss and Peeta, and see her sleeping, curled up in his lap. Mayella is asleep on his shoulder, and he's staring out the window. Taking that is, I realize I'm subconsciously wishing—I wish that I make it through this. I wish—one day—that I have a family like that.

We arrive in District Four, the fishing district, stopping for fuel. We were allowed outside, and I happily burst out of the train. I wasn't one for cooped-up spaces.

Unlike Katniss, I had absolutely no talent with a bow and arrow, but I could kill anything at any distance with a few sharp knives. It was how I fed my family. Well, helped to feed it. And I ran cross-country when I was in school, so I was really fast. And tiny. Maybe I could use that to my advantage.

The train station is right on the ocean, and I take a deep breath. I've never been to the ocean, so I kick off my shoes gratefully and sprint towards the water, my toes sinking into the damp sand. I step in slowly, letting the cool water flow around my ankles. I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Amazing for the first time, isn't it?" a voice says. My eyes snap open, and I see Peeta standing beside me. I'd seen plenty of biographies about him and Katniss—mostly about her—and I knew almost everything about him. So why couldn't I think of anything to say?

"You'd love to paint this," I blurted out. He nodded, the frown lines on his face going away for a moment as he lit up. He took in the harbor; the light blue water, the picturesque red and white boats, the green, _green _grass. I could see him memorizing shapes and lines and colors.

"I would. You know, Marisse," he said, "I know what you're going into. And I don't mean to scare you—but it's brutal. Intense. And this is the fourth Quarter-Quell, so you have no idea what the Game makers are going to do. My advice is to give it everything you have. And trust nobody. Not even Derrick." Peeta's eyes met my own, and I couldn't look away.

"You're scaring the kid," Katniss spoke up, appearing from nowhere and putting a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "Come on. The train's about to leave."

The next few days passed in a whirlwind. One night, I stupidly stuffed myself with so much fine Capitol food from the train that I threw up the next day. The next day, Derrick was cold and distant, something I wasn't used to. Even back in 12, we'd at least made biting sarcastic comments at each other. And now…nothing.

Reiff is a ghost through the entire thing. He barely ever shows up, and I doubt he's going to be of much use. He does shoo away photographers as we arrive at the Capitol station. Walking through the Capitol reminds me of, once, when I was young; I managed to get my hands on some of my father's alcohol. I figured it was juice, so I drank a ton of it, and walked around seeing colors and stumbling into things for the next few days. It was like that; so many different colors that you could barely keep your balance.

Reiff pushes through the photographers at the train station as Derrick and I are ushered into a black limousine with Katniss, Peeta, and Mayella. It's a long and silent car ride—not much different from the train ride. Except the train ride might have been a little longer.

We show up at the Training Center and got pulled to our rooms. Mine was nothing special—by Capitol standards. Just the basic essentials for furniture—a bed, loveseat, bureau, and a door that probably led to a bathroom. There were all sorts of fancy things in the bathroom—a heated toilet that could tell your moods, a shower that can sense how dirty you are and even a sink that will wash your hands for you.

It infuriated me, comparing all this to my living conditions at home.

But I didn't have time for that. I needed to get dressed and presentable for a dinner with Reiff, Derrick, Katniss, Peeta, and Mayella. The first dinner in the Capitol.

There's a knock on my door and, puzzled, I walk over, opening it. I'm suddenly staring into the stone-cold green eyes of a familiar face, with cat-like eyes, a tiny mouth, and a large nose dusted with light freckles.

"Taylor?" I squeak out. My eyes well up as she shakes her head, her pin-straight brown hair whipping against her face.

Taylor Micarsen. She was my neighbor back in 12, until she ran off with her boyfriend a few years ago. They hadn't been seen since, and everyone assumed they had either eloped or died, one of the two. But…to be an Avox…I hadn't even thought of it.

My eyes spill over, little tears falling onto my shirt as I reach up and touch her cheek. I'm far too compassionate for my own liking. "What did they do to you?"

She puts a hand to her throat and shakes her head again. She shows me her wrist and the serial number running up and down it in purple ink. Only the traitors get serial numbers; something adopted a few years after Katniss and Peeta won. I wasn't sure if they'd had a hand in it or not. But what could she have possibly done?

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, wiping my eyes. "Why are you here? You must hate us. We forgot about you."

She reaches up and touches my hair.

"You want to do my hair?" I ask.

She nods briskly, and I lead her to the small vanity in the corner, stocked with any type of beauty supply you could want. Taylor sets to work, putting foam and glitter and gloss of all sorts in my hair. When it's straight as a pin and shining as if it were wet, she picks up a small, blue oval. She sets it on top of my head and I felt a buzz in the top of my skull. A current runs through my hair before it poofs out into huge, perfect ringlets. When my hair is straight, it falls to the middle of my back. Now, it's so curly that it only falls just past my shoulders.

"Oh my gosh," I mutter. I didn't even know anything like this was possible—after all, I'm from little old district 12. I've never even been in a car until today.

Taylor smiles, thankfully with closed teeth so I can't see the mangled stub of a tongue she has left. I give her an enormous hug, glad to finally see someone I know.

Something attached to Taylor's wrist beeps, and she jumps, as if she's about to be hit. She glances down, and her eyes do the talking. _I have to go. _I nod my head and give her a kiss on the cheek before she leaves.

I don't plan to wear anything special to dinner—a little white sundress I got from the bureau. Something about wearing dresses is so…weird to me. 12 has very little money, of course, so I've never really had a dress. These things are…surprisingly comfortable. I spin around for a quick second, laughing despite myself.

"That's cute," a familiar voice says. I glance over, and see Derrick, leaning against the edge of the doorway. Damn it. Taylor must have left the door open. Immediately my shocked surprise turns to a red-hot glare.

"Just because there's going to be two victors doesn't mean they'll be from the same district," I growl.

"Don't worry. Katniss wants it, but I'm all against the Mockingjay strategy." Derrick shakes his head, and I shiver at the thought. The thought of Derrick and I, adopting the strategy that probably saved Katniss and Peeta's lives. Nicknamed the Mockingjay strategy. Where we would pretend to be lovers, one lost without another, gaining the public appeal and sponsors. Then, we would become of value to the Capitol. Tools to shift public opinion.

Tools being the key word. _I _for one, was definitely not a tool. Not something to be used to complete a task. I was a tribute—nothing more, nothing less.

"Could you imagine?" I laughed. He sneered at me.

"I don't love thieves," Derrick said snidely. I glared at him.

"Why won't you drop that?" I narrowed my eyes. "It's been ages."

"You want the exact number? I know it," he says, playing with one of the ornaments on the dresser.

"No. I don't. I want you to drop it." I folded my arms.

"I just like how angry it makes you," he said. Something in his face shifted—for a second, he lost that cocky arrogance that he always carried about him. I frowned.

"No you don't," I said. "What else?" I added.

Derrick looks at me, and then the floor. For a second, he thinks. Like he's deciding whether or not he can trust me. And then he steps forward, hiking up his shirt and revealing his back to me.

Some of the scars are fresh, light pink in color. Others are bone-white, sticking out against his tan skin. I can't help myself—I reach out to touch them, running my fingers down the raised flesh. I see Derrick break out into goosebumps as he yanks his shirt down.

"A poker from the fire," he hisses, some of his hair—which had gotten practically pin-straight since that day, so long ago—falling in front of his eyes as his brings his face towards mine, "The marks from the broom? They went away years ago. That didn't bother me. It was when he took the poker out of the fire that day, when I wouldn't repay him for the loaf _you _took, that I really got mad." His blue eyes narrow at me, and I can't meet them.

He snorts, and reaches into his pocket, fishing something out. Then, staying in front of me, he reaches back and ties my curly hair up with it. "That's yours," he mutters.

I reach back as he walks out of the room, and pull the blue hair ribbon from my hair, the one that I lost stealing that stupid loaf of old bread.

The dinner is quiet; Katniss and Peeta talk quietly about politics—what to do about the President, and how sick he's getting—and everyone else just eats. Mayella went to bed a little while ago, yawning and dragging her coat behind her.

That is, until Reiff makes an announcement. I set my fork down, making little lines in my mashed potatoes with it. I've got to say, this food is the best food I've ever eaten. The Capitol citizens really know how to live—beautiful colors, no tributes to send to the Games, and amazing food. What more could you want?

"Listen," he speaks. His gravelly voice isn't often used, so when we hear it, we all look up quickly. "Derrick, Marisse…we want you to adopt the Mockingjay strategy."

"No!" we both shout out at the same time.

"I hate him!" I shriek.

"I can't stand her!" he says at the same time.

"It isn't a choice," Reiff says decisively, folding his hands on the table.

"That's not fair!" I shoot up from my chair, slamming my hands on the table and making the china shudder.

"Do you want to die?" Katniss shouts back, mimicking me as she shoots up from her chair. Peeta grabs her wrist, but she shakes him off, not taking her piercing gray eyes off me. I stare her down for a moment.

"You can't force me to fake something as important as love," I say, looking at her and Peeta deliberately.

She narrows her eyes.

I've never actually met Katniss until now—she was a public figure, but no more than that. Her and Peeta left Victors Village, but never came to my part of the Seam. I was out in the country, right near the fence that never buzzes with electricity.

Katniss was intimidating—sure, she was scary at times. But nothing I couldn't handle. She was short, but still taller than me—almost everyone was—and could stare you down like a puma or a mountain lion eyeing prey.

She still didn't scare me.

"That isn't fair—" Peeta starts, level-headed as ever, but Katniss interrupts him.

"It's fair. It's a low blow, but it's fair enough." Katniss's eyes soften for a second, but harden right back up again when I sit back down, smoothing the edges of my dress.

"It's not like it hasn't worked before," Katniss says as she takes her own seat. She talks then, and sounds…surprisingly tender and caring, for the moment. "You're right. You shouldn't have to fake something that important. You can hurt people."

I see Peeta look at the ground.

"But before you know it," Katniss continues, "It isn't pretending anymore."


	3. Chapter 3

*****A/N: I finally updated! Do you love me now? ^.^ Anyway, REVIEWWWW! DO ITT! It will make a certain author realllyyyy happy. I promise ;) Anyway, here we go! *****

3

"_I'll do it." I said the words before I even realized, exactly, what I was saying. Katniss's face spread into a wide grin. _

_"Let the games begin," she said._

xxx

I can't believe I'm pulling a Mockingjay. With Derrick, of all people? I'd seen others attempt the strategy Peeta and Katniss practically copyrighted, and they all stunk at it. Their performances were seen through every time, especially by Caesar Flickerman. Who, in fact, was still doing interviews. He'd aged quite a bit, and you could tell he'd gotten surgery. He was sixty-five, I think, and still going.

District 12 managed to get here before the opening ceremonies—weird for a district to do, but not completely unheard of. Now, after I'd settled into my room, it was time for the opening ceremonies and the chariot parade. I wonder what I'd get dressed up as this year. After Cinna retired ten years ago, the stylists haven't gotten very creative—they couldn't manage the 'people on fire' idea, so they went back to rubbing on coal or wearing skimpy coal miners outfits. It wasn't very interesting.

My prep team consisted of three typical Capitol stylists (at least, those who attempted to be head stylists, but didn't manage to make the cut)—one, Glamour, was really shy, and was the least over-done. She had a ring of golden stars tattooed around one eye, and had glowing, fire-truck-red hair. Mischa was this short, adorable little girl with dyed-golden eyes and hair that changed colors, depending on her mood. Right now it was a vibrant purple. I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it couldn't be bad, could it?

And finally, Bresco. Bresco wasn't your typical stylist. He was huge and masculine, with broad shoulders and sculpted arms. He was amazing with a comb and hairspray, and had neon-green hair, dyed-purple eyes, and tribal tattoos all over his face and arms.

This year, I heard Cinna's son was going to be the girl's head stylist. But I doubted that rumor was true. I wasn't even sure Cinna had a son.

I found out a few moments later, I was right. Cinna didn't have a son. He had a daughter.

She was tall, with long legs, tan skin, bright eyes, and platinum hair. It was so light it was nearly white, and it was long and thin, swishing down past her hips. She had cat-like eyes that were a green that was so bright, it looked dyed. I couldn't be sure if it was or not. She surveyed the room quickly, her eyes falling on me, naked and vulnerable except for my thin robe.

"Hm." She raised one blonde eyebrow. "Well. I am Brihanna. I'm your stylist. And we're going to turn you into a fire." Brihanna said simply, and grinned.

My face was pinched and tugged and pulled into the right shape, and makeup was dusted across my eyes and cheeks. Brihanna began spraying my hair with something that smelled like flowers. I looked up at her curiously.

"It's flame retardant," she muttered, going back to her spraying. I raised an eyebrow, and was scolded for moving. After Brihanna was done spraying, she got to braiding something thick and scratchy into my hair. I was forced to close my eyes and Bresco put a hand over them, just to be sure.

My robe was taken away and smooth material fell over my skin, feeling light as air. Bresco pulled away his hand as Glamour gasped and Mischa smirked. I worked up the courage to look into the mirror. And…I didn't see _me._ I saw…a tribute. A girl on fire. The red-haired girl who'd volunteered for someone weaker than her.

They had curled my hair so it fell in ringlets down my back, and Brihanna had braided some type of black twine into my hair. I wasn't sure what it was for, but I was afraid to touch it, so I let it be. Glamour had rimmed my eyes with red and yellow makeup that faded to yellow by my brows.

And the dress…the dress was made of soft, flowing material that was vibrantly red on the bottom and gradually faded to yellow on the top. It sparkled when I moved, even when I breathed, so it looked like I was a candle.

"That isn't the best part. We'll do that when you get to the chariot. Come on!" Brihanna tugged me out into the hall and to the chariots. Derrick was leaning up against the side of the sleek black chariot and glanced up as we walked in. For a moment, his face faltered. I thought I saw something in there, maybe—awe? No. Not from Derrick. Not directed at _me,_ for that matter.

They'd put him in sturdy black boots, simple black pants, and a shirt made of the same material as my dress. He'd rolled the sleeves up and unbuttoned the collar—in typical Derrick fashion, to reveal as much skin as possible. They'd dyed his hair a darker chestnut brown that glinted a little gold in the light. It was…different. And I hated to admit it, but I kind of liked it.

"You clean up okay, thief," he muttered, glancing at me as I passed by. I looked away, glaring at the ground.

Brihanna pulled something out of her pocket, and it clicked to life at the flick of her thumb. I saw a flame shoot out of the lighter as she raised it to my hair. I spun around, knocking it away, panic rising in my chest.

"What are you doing?" I shrieked, my voice cracking. She wasn't really going to set my hair on fire, was she?

"Slow down, slow down." Brihanna rolled her eyes at me, like I was stupid. "Didn't you hear me? I sprayed flame retardant spray on your hair, so it won't catch fire. The twine will go up, but the hair won't. Understand?" Her green eyes stared me down for a moment, one platinum-blonde brow raised in impatience. I looked at the lighter suspiciously, but folded my arms and turned around slowly, letting her hold it to my hair.

I felt a rush of heat, the fire spreading up the black twine and engulfing my head in warmth. Brihanna holds up a mirror proudly. My entire head isn't on fire, but small bits of it are.

"Wait." Brihanna turns the mirror sideways, so I can see the pattern she arranged the fire.

It's like the crest of a red mockingjay. I'm speechless.

"Your face is enough for me. Oh, and Katniss wanted to talk to you. Something about a mockingjay?" Brihanna hugged me before running off to the exit.

I slowly walked towards Katniss, not used to my hair being…well, on fire. Katniss smirked.

"It suits you," she said with a grin. "Now. This isn't going to be easy. I know that. But you're going to have to at least act like you love him. Okay?"

I bit my lip. _I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this. I don't want to—_"Sure. I'll do it." I blurt out the words she wants to hear. Katniss nods primly and brings me back to the chariot, where Derrick is waiting. I climb up and smooth my dress. Together, Derrick and I glance down at Katniss and Peeta before we leave.

"Arms around each other!" she mouths fiercely. I roll my eyes and bite my lip harder, wrapping my arms around Derrick's waist and him wrapping an arm around my shoulders, being careful to avoid the flames on my head.

"You smell like flowers," he whispers before we disembark. "Not like your usual stench."

"I hate this so much," I hiss through a forced smile.

The chariots surge ahead through the Capitol streets. People are screaming, chanting out random names, sometimes my own. I hear it, quietly whispered, like it's some big secret. _Marisse. Derrick. Marisse. Derrick. _

They chanted slowly, at first, and then rose in pitch, until they were screaming our names. I knew what it was—the Capitol's own citizens rebelling against them. The fact that they had even organized something this…well, this wide-spread, was amazing.

"You volunteering for Keera did something," Derrick whispered, his mouth dangerously close to my ear, "People have been talking about it."

"They have?" I hissed back. He nodded.

The chariot jerked to a stop, and we were all escorted to our seats for the president's speech. My fire still burns in the evening light. The president stops a few times to cough, spitting up mucus into a white handkerchief.

As the sun disappears behind the horizon, a staff member puts my hair out with a towel. The president calls the tributes up, and we receive applause. On the way up, Derrick grabs my hand tightly, and though something in my stomach pulls, I give him a glare before plastering on a smile. Together, we smile and wave, our fingers woven so tightly together the knuckles are white.

xxx

Over the next few days, we train our hearts out with the other tributes. I learn how to tie a new knot, and how to identify plants. I also learn how to build shelter in almost any environment—snowy plains, rocky hills, or thick forests. I stay away from the strength and weapon's training. I don't want to exhibit any type of skill yet.

A fear that, obviously, the Careers don't have. I see the tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 all throwing spears and lifting weights. Valerius and Donella, from District 1, usually throw spears all day. They're really good at it, too. Valerius is a short boy with a shaved head, blue eyes, and a huge amount of muscle. He stands stout and strong, like a tree trunk. Donella, on the other hand, must be at least six feet tall, with a ton of flowing blonde hair and cat-like brown eyes. The District 2 tributes, Thor and Lyka, spend all day sparring roughly with a few of the trainers, and I feel bad for the trainers, because they come back each morning battered and bruised by the two of them, who look a lot alike. They both have dark hair and light brown eyes. And the District 4 tributes spend their training weaving nets at an incredible speed and practicing with tridents. The District 4 tributes names are Alton and Nerissa. Alton tall and muscular, with eyes the color of seaweed and hair that's a mix between brown and gold. Nerissa is pretty enough, with dark brown eyes and short blonde hair that's almost always tied up in a short ponytail.

Before the Games even began, I knew they would be the Career pack.

And as we stood waiting for our private sessions with the gamemakers, my suspicion was made obvious. The 1 and 2 tributes stood in a close huddle, the four of them talking quietly. The 4 tributes, though, stand off to the side. And as I watch them, my stomach falls, and I feel sick. Because Nerissa slowly reaches up and fixes some of Alton's hair, and he strokes her cheek with the back of his hand, and they are both staring at each other in such a way that—

It makes me sick to realize that what they have is real—they actually love each other, but they don't make it public. They keep this true, honest love secret, while Derrick and I flaunt around fake love to gain attention and sympathy. It's enough to make my eyes well up.

"You okay?" Derrick asks, surprisingly sympathetic. I shake my head slowly, wiping at my eyes.

"I'm fine." I move to the benches and sit down, staring at my hands. I'm not sure that I can go through with this.

"Marisse," Derrick says, sitting down beside me. For once his tone isn't biting or sarcastic. "I just…I wanted to say sorry. I mean…I've been so mean to you for all these years. And I shouldn't have." He lowers his eyes, huge and unnervingly blue, to the floor.

"I shouldn't have stolen the bread," I reply quietly, earning a dry laugh from him. "_I'm_ sorry about what happened. With your back."

"We all have scars," he said with a shrug, "It's District 12, after all."

"Does this mean we aren't enemies anymore?" I ask with a smile. He nods and sticks out his hand.

"Maybe even partners," he says as we shake. He holds on a moment too long before his name is called for the private session. He gives me a smile and gets up.

"Good luck," I say, and he glances at the door nervously before walking in.

He walks out some time later, sweat glinting on his forehead. I know I'm next, because the girl from District 12 is always the last to go, and there's nobody else left.

"Tough crowd," he says with a shrug. "Good luck, Marisse."

"Thanks." I take a nervous breath and open the door. The Gamemakers eyes watch me as I cross the room to the table with knives. I can see them taking down notes as they ponder my decision, and for some reason, I get extremely self-conscious. So I turn to the targets, flipping the knife over in my hand from the handle to the blade, catching the glinting silver in my fingers. I ponder the weight of it for a moment, before raising my arm and throwing it at the target. It lodges into the red middle. Okay. I was warmed up.

I threw two more knives, at two different targets, landing a bulls-eye each time. Throwing myself down, I roll across the floor and send a knife sideways at a sandbag, cutting the rope and sending it smacking into the floor. The people sitting at the table are like statues, just taking me in with eyes that don't give anything back.

I furrow my brow. I need something to get their attention. Then, as I see the blank wall behind the targets, I get an idea. I take the headband I had on off, and tie it around my eyes. Then, going to the knife table, I gather up all the knives. I can hear murmurs of confusion, and for some reason, that satisfies me.

I pick up the knives and throw them all in quick succession at the wall. I wait for the _thunk _that means they're lodging into the wall, and then continue. I hear a clatter as one hits the floor, and my stomach falls a little, but I press on.

I pull off my blindfold after I'm done to reveal my masterpiece: a slightly-wobbly number _12 _spelled out on the wall in knives.

I turn to the banquet table, and I see shock on everyone's face. For some reason, I bow low, dipping my head, and then rush out the door. Slowly, I exhale the breath I didn't realize I was holding, and step onto the elevator, my hands shaking.

xxx

Peeta and Katniss are the only two who pay attention to the scores on the television. Derrick and I stay silent, and while I don't know for sure if he's paying attention, I know he probably isn't. He's probably mulling over his private session in his head, replaying it like I am. Going over what a potential mistake might have been.

Although, from what I can gather, they Gamemakers were definitely tough this year. Most of the careers got fives and sixes. I notice a small, wiry looking girl from District 7 got an eight. Her picture on the screen, for some reason, commands my attention, though she's a very plain looking girl, with long blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She's thirteen years old, it says, and her father was a lumberjack. Her mother was labeled only as "deceased."

Finally, the District 12 seal appears on the screen. Derrick's picture appears, and a number is blazing in white beside it. A proud number eight is displayed, and he gives a self satisfied smirk. Then my picture comes up, and my jaw drops.

I got an eleven and a half.

_An eleven and a half!_ Out of twelve!

Katniss' jaw practically hits the floor, and she looks at me. "How did you—"

"I…I…" I'm speechless.

"Nice job, kid," Reiff suddenly speaks up. We all stare in shock—he's barely spoken five words since we got off the train. I can't help but smile at him.

xxx

The next day, Mischa wakes me up early. I know the televised interviews are today, and as Mischa reminds me, I'm going to be prepped almost all day for them.

They start by stripping me down and rubbing me with some oil that makes every single hair on my body fall to the ground. Then Mischa washes my hair while Glamour paints my nails red. Bresco is working on painting black tribal tattoos—ones that look a lot like his own tattoos—up my arms. Mischa pulls out one of those little oval things—a lot like the one Taylor used when she did my hair—and places it on my head. It dries my hair with a single little buzz, and then, with another buzz, makes the dark red strands smooth and straight as a pin. She takes the top part of my hair and pulls it up, braiding it with quick fingers. When she's done with my half-up, half-down hair, she moves on to my makeup. I can see red sparkles on the edge of my vision, but she doesn't hold up a mirror just yet.

After my prep team is finished, Brihanna walks in, her hair white and her eyes as green as ever. I still haven't decided whether her eyes are dyed or not.

"You're going to love this," she said, holding up a black bag. "Now shut your eyes."

I stand up and I can feel something silky being wrapped around me slowly. Just above my waist, the wrapping stops, and I feel something slide over my head and rest where the wrapping ended. I step forward slowly into shoes that, surprisingly, are flat.

"Open," Bresco says proudly.

I open my eyes and gasp.

This dress is nothing like the first one. It looks like Brihanna wrapped a dark, almost blood-red scarf around my chest, and then tied a matching red skirt with sparkling, golden filigree clawing up it. My shoes are red peep-toe flats with golden ribbons that Glamour wraps around my legs, like Grecian sandals. The tattoos that Bresco was painting, I realize, are not tribal ones, like I thought before, but look almost like the vague outline of feathers that go all the way down my arms, finally ending in the middle of the back of my hand. My makeup is surprisingly light, with only a few red sparkles near the outer corners of my eyes.

"Do you like it?" Brihanna said proudly, "I've decided to turn you into a mockingjay. It matches that red hair perfectly." She went on proudly, "Katniss and I have decided to use you against the audience. They can't help but fall in love with someone as beautiful as you."

"I love it!" I said, "Thank you, Brihanna!"

"Yes, yes, I know. Now get out there and do my work some justice," she says, pushing me out of the room and into the waiting arms of Derrick and Katniss. Peeta arrives seconds later, carrying Mayella on his shoulders, and we all walk to the interviews together. Peeta and Katniss join hands in front of us, and with Mayella on Peeta's shoulders, it's nearly a picture-perfect moment.

I think Derrick caught me staring, and I look at the floor before sneaking a quick glance at him. They've put him in the familiar black pants and boots, with a shirt that matches mine in color, with ripped sleeves and a shredded bottom. The back is boasting a pair of painted-on golden wings that sparkle when he moves. I see they've turned him into a mockingjay, too.

I reach up and touch Erric's necklace for a moment. This is probably the first time my family will see me, since I know that the chariot rides are rarely watched in 12, because they're broadcast on a work day in the middle of the work hours.

"You look beautiful," Derrick says suddenly as we come to a stop outside the TV studio doors. Inside, I hear applause as the District 4 tributes are announced. Derrick looks at me, his eyes the deepest, strangest shade of blue I've ever come across. "I mean," he adds quickly, flustered, "for a blundering, bread-grabbing thief."

He smiles, and his now-dark hair falls in front of his eyes. He brushes it away.

"Thank you," I manage to blurt out, "You clean up pretty well yourself."

"Are you ready?" Derrick stares at the studio doors, and as the cheers go up for the District 11 tributes, he takes my hand.

"Not really," I say, meaning it in more ways than one.


	4. Chapter 4

*****A/N: Here ya go. Another Chapter. Enjoy!*****

4

_The feel of Derrick's hand in my own is almost…enjoyable. It feels new and exciting. Like the first warm day after a long, cold winter. _

xxx

The doors open wide as we are announced, and I'm faced with lights almost too bright to bear. We walk together to our seats in front of the studio audience. I ignore the glares from the other female tributes, and feel a pang of guilt when I don't get a glare from Nerissa, but only a small, weak smile.

"Welcome, Marisse and Derrick!" Caesar Flickerman spoke, his hair dyed a responsible brown and his eyes dyed a strange blue-green. I took my seat next to Derrick and crossed my legs. Derrick surprised me by putting one hand on my knee.

"And that concludes the introduction to our tributes! Aren't they lovely?" Caesar says, and the crowd responds with a cheer. He grins, his teeth pearly white. My nerves begin to set in, and I twist my dress in my hands, pulling it out from under Derrick's hand. I wasn't cut out for this. I wasn't brave and independent, like Katniss. I didn't have a way with words, like Peeta. I wasn't charming and sweet, like Derrick. I was shy and panicky and way too unprepared for this—

"Are you okay?" Derrick whispered, raising an eyebrow at me. I nodded, swallowing.

Caesar got through the first few interviews, and then that girl that caught my eye the other day—the one from District 7 who got an eight, with dark eyes and blonde hair—walked on stage. She sits down carefully, in a green sundress with leaves on the sleeves and small lines painted up her legs and arms in brown paint. District 7's main industry is lumber, so it would make sense that she's dressed up as a tree.

"And here's our District 7 female, Avis Flynn!" Caesar said, smiling at the girl, Avis. She grinned back at him. "Welcome, Avis."

"Actually, everybody calls me Flynn," she said boldly. Caesar doesn't falter.

"Well, then, Flynn, let's get started, shall we? You shocked a lot of people with that score of eight."

"I did?" she said, her tone innocent. I saw exactly what her trainers were going for. The sweet, adorable tree-girl from District 7.

"A little thing like yourself, scoring higher than some of the boys? That's practically unheard of. Whatever you did in there, it must have worked?" Caesar said with a wink.

The interview went on, and as it did, I realized Flynn was innocent, alright, but she was also bold and independent, surprisingly so for a thirteen-year-old.

The rest of the tributes were interviewed, and then suddenly, it was Derrick's turn. He kissed my temple and walked on stage, sitting down on the cream-colored couch beside Caesar's desk. The lights of the studio make his eyes so startlingly blue—like a dark ocean on a sunny day—that they almost look dyed, though I know that's not true.

As I look at those eyes, something in my stomach flutters, and I shake the feeling, my arms breaking out into goosebumps. I can't fall for him. He's my competition—the enemy. I'd already decided that I was going to save that little girl, Flynn, and if possible, myself. It was the right thing to do.

But the way he kissed my head…and the way he held my hand…

_No._ I can't.

"Derrick, welcome. So. Tell me a little about your life back in District 12." Caesar listened intently as Derrick recounted his life in his father's bakery, and then, his life when his father decided to open a butcher shop instead. He skipped over the part where I stole the bread. There was no need to talk about it anyway.

"Interesting. So, as the audience knows, you and Marisse Ironwood are practically an item. Where did you meet Marisse?"

"School. Around town, I suppose. District 12 isn't very big, and Marisse just stands out." His eyes turned to me and he grinned. For some reason, it made my heart stop.

"I understand," Caesar said with a wink in my direction. "What about her, exactly?" Caesar wiggled his eyebrows, and there were a few nervous giggles from the crowd. I blushed nearly as red as my dress as Derrick spoke.

"She's funny. And she's smart and caring, and surprisingly compassionate. She'll never refuse someone in need, and her eyes are the most intoxicating color I've ever seen."

He looked over at me and smiled, and I managed to grin back.

Caesar laughed. "That's teenage love for you, folks. Thank you for your time, Derrick. Now, let's get to know our other District 12 tribute, Marisse Ironwood!" Derrick took his seat as I slowly walked up to the couch next to Caesar's, playing with my dress as I sat down.

"How am I supposed to follow that?" I muttered, laughing nervously. Caesar gave a short, barking laugh, and picked up his index cards, scanning the questions.

"It'll be a tough act to follow, but I'm sure you'll do fine. Now, Marisse. You shook the world by volunteering for Keera Van Aylen, a sickly little girl from your district. It's a lot like a move your mentor, Katniss Everdeen, did by volunteering for her sister Primrose. But what made people really notice was that you had no relation to Keera—you weren't friends or relatives. What made you volunteer?"

I thought about it for a moment. "Nobody else would," I said simply. "Keera was on crutches and could barely stand upright. And here she was, being sent to a violent death that was inevitable. It wasn't fair. And before I knew it, I was throwing my hand in the air and screaming the words."

Caesar nodded solemnly. "Yes, yes. She was quite sick." He cleared his throat. "On to our next question: how do you feel about being the highest scorer in Hunger Games history, inching past your mentor, Katniss Everdeen, with eleven and a half points?"

"I was shocked. I honestly didn't think I did that well," I said. "But like Flynn already said, they must have seen something they liked."

"Beautiful and dangerous. What a combination." Caesar smiled. "It seems to me, Marisse, that you and your mentor Katniss are awfully alike." There was a mischievous glint in Caesar's eyes.

I only hesitated a moment. "Actually, Caesar, we're pretty different. I'm not nearly as brave or bold as Katniss, and not half as strong. I look up to her, but I'm nothing like her."

Caesar's perfect expression faltered. I'd answered the question better than expected, and he didn't have anything else to throw at me.

"Well, folks," he said quickly, "That ends our televised interviews! Thank you for watching. As always, I'm Caesar Flickerman, and these were the Hunger Games Pre-Game Interviews!"

xxx

That night, my balcony seemed like the best place to be. I opened the huge French doors and stepped onto the cool stone in a pair of silky blue pajama shorts and a matching camisole. It was surprisingly warm in the Capitol that night, and as I rested my elbows on the balcony railing, I could see people strolling out and about in the brilliantly neon-lit Capitol, enjoying the nice night. It was my last night before the Hunger Games, and I shut my eyes, taking in the crisp air.

Sadly, the warm night made Erric's necklace feel cool and present on my neck. I thought of Erric and Donica. At least they had each other. I bit my lip as my throat began to close. Echoes of Donica's shrieking laughter and Erric's booming voice played in my ears, wrapping around my head and threatening to choke me. Tears began to fall, dripping slowly down my nose. They keep coming, more and more of them, until I'm finally brought to my knees on the balcony, clutching at the base of the railing and gritting my teeth against the horrible, twisting pain that's clawing at my stomach as I sob.

I hear footsteps, and warm hands are on my shoulders. I can barely see, but I make out purple ink on the wrist of one of the hands.

"T-t-tay-l-lor?" I manage to blubber. Her hands disappear for a moment, and though I don't want her to leave, I won't stop her. I just clutch at the railing harder and sob harder. I think I'm having a panic attack—I can't stop crying and I can barely breathe.

"What do you want me for—oh," a familiar voice says. "Marisse?" Derrick steps forward, crouching next to where I've fallen. "Marisse. It's me and Taylor."

"G-go aw-w-w-way." My breath hitches in my throat.

Derrick chuckles. "I can't do that, Marisse. I'm far too involved now," he says. He puts a hand on my shoulder and tugs me backwards into his lap. I can't help but clutch his shirt and cry into it. I feel someone take my hand and realize it's Taylor. She hums an old lullaby from District 12, and it actually soothes me. The lyrics materialize in my head.

_Today is a new day,_

_ So child, open your eyes,_

_ Time for laugh and play,_

_ The dawn is new and bright,_

_ Come now child, down to the bay,_

_ Where we will laze and play all day. _

That's when I realize that they aren't in my head. Derrick is singing them. He finishes the lullaby and rocks me like a child, resting his chin on my hair and holding me like the world will end if he lets me go.

xxx

I can't believe what I've done.

The relationship I have with Derrick is wrong. It shouldn't be more than mutual hate. He's the enemy—just another tribute going into the arena with me. I should save that tiny girl, Avis Flynn, and myself, before I should save him.

I arrive at the Launch Room (better known as the Stockyard) with my tracker firmly injected. Taylor can't be there, for her protection and mine, and instead I bring only Katniss, who, though at odds with me in the beginning, probably understands my position better than anyone.

Peeta walks with us as far as the doors to the Launch Room, where he takes his hand out of Katniss' and puts it on my shoulder. "Good luck," he says, and his blue eyes are brutally honest. "Don't be a piece to the puzzle, Marisse."

What could that mean?

But instead of asking questions, I nod solemnly. He gives me a tight-lipped smile and then kisses Katniss' forehead before leaving. We walk into the Launch Room and sit down. Before I know it, she's grabbing my hand and spouting off advice.

"Find water first," she says quietly as we clutch hands. "The others will come to you. The best advice I have to give is to not be a major player. Stay hidden. Stay safe."

"Katniss…I need to ask you something," I said, thinking back to her Hunger Games, which I wasn't alive for but had seen recaps of many times.

"Yes?"

"If you had to choose between protecting Rue, and protecting Peeta, who would you choose?" I ask. Katniss' gray Seam eyes search my own for a moment, as if looking for an answer. Then she looks down.

"I should say Rue. That's the right thing to say. But if I'm answering honestly…I would protect Peeta."

I think about her answer. She loves Peeta and would probably die without him.

A computerized voice announces it's time to launch, and my stomach drops. This is it. I'm being sent off to be slaughtered.


	5. Chapter 5

5

The arena wasn't at all like expected.

There were a few lush green hills with trees that were thick and green. A lake and a few streams trickled nearby. The sky was a brilliant blue. This looked peaceful. A little _too _peaceful.

The tributes stood in a circle around the Cornucopia, which stood forty feet away from me. I saw, close by, a black backpack with a water bottle attached to the side. Then I looked up at the weapons. I figured if I timed this sprint right, I could grab the bag on the way by and then book it towards the weapon's pile, at the mouth of the golden horn of the Cornucopia. I could breeze by and the sprint for the woods. I ran cross-country at my school, and could beat most of the kids in sprints, and killed them in long-distance races.

I needed to grab the knife belt I saw by the mouth of the Cornucopia. This year, in honor of the Quarter Quell, the tributes didn't start with weapons, like they normally did, and so the need for weapons was as great as it had ever been.

I look around for Derrick, and find him opposite me. He nods at me from eighty feet away, and even though he's so far, I realize that that nod means an alliance.

I have two options; partner up with Derrick, or go it alone.

I like the second better.

_Not yet_, I mouth, _find me later._

He looks dejected, but settles into a sprinting stance anyway.

"Welcome to the fourth Quarter Quell—the 100th Hunger Games! We have a little treat for you before the Games begin." The announcer, Marvel Wristage, is a booming voice above our heads. Some machine whirs, and suddenly cylinders begin to rise from the ground. In them I see—tributes.

My heart stops.

There are 24 more tributes.

This makes for an even 48.

I _knew _there had to be a catch! They wouldn't just let two of us win for no reason. No, that wouldn't be enough bloodshed for them.

"That's right, original tributes. The way we see it, double the winners means that there should be double the tributes. The ante has been upped. Twenty-four new tributes stand before you." He begins to announce names, and when he gets to District 12, I strain to listen. "And finally, from District 12! The female, a certain Miss Tanya Everest!" Tanya was a merchant's daughter, and I knew almost nothing about her. I barely even recognized her as she rose up from the ground on a metal circle. "And now for our male tribute. Please welcome…Erric Ironwood!"

No.

_No_. I can't help but fall to my knees. My brother is brought up on a small metal plate like the others, but to me, it seems to be a death trap. He rises beside me, and I know the Gamemakers did this on purpose. I'm not sure if they chose Erric on purpose, but I know they put him next to me because they knew it would shake me.

Immediately, all thoughts of saving Avis Flynn and Derrick Hannigan fly out the door. I know I have to protect my brother. I know that it's the only choice.

"Get up, Marisse! Come on! Get up!" Erric hisses from beside me. I look at my hands, pressed white against the metal plate I was brought on, and slowly push off and stand. I had let my emotions take over for a second, but I regained my composure and stared straight ahead, focusing my gaze on that knife belt at the mouth of the Cornucopia. Tunnel vision closed in on the belt.

"I am getting those knives," I whisper to myself, clutching at Erric's necklace, which was my district token. I wonder what Erric brought.

"Get out of here as quick as you can," Erric mumbles quietly, "I'll be fine. Find a tree. Climb it. Just _get out of here._"

_Go. _

The horn blasts and I'm off. I scoop up the backpack on my way by and then head straight for the weapon's pile. I hear fighting behind me, and block out the noise of breaking bones. I know I'm too far ahead of everyone to let panic rise in my throat. I grab the knife belt and slide to a stop, pressing my back against the golden Cornucopia. From the other side of the golden horn, I hear fighting, and I know they'll be on me soon.

I take a breath and sprint into the woods, choosing a nearby tree to scramble up. Once I'm safe as high as I can go, without being spotted, of course, I look down on the fighting below me. My eyes desperately search for my brother. I find him, grabbing a spear from the weapon's pile and fighting his way out of the Cornucopia. I pull a knife from the knife belt I've been given and hold it cautiously, ready to throw at the first sign of Erric in trouble.

My brother is strong from hours of hard farm work, though, and it's not long before he's sprinting towards my tree. Quickly, I drop through the branches. I've always been a good tree climber, because when I was a child, people would pay me to scale their houses and clean their gutters. A lot of the times, I'd have to use a tree to get to the roof. It was a skill that I picked up quickly and, as I realize now, haven't lost.

I land in front of my brother and he stops, shocked.

"That was quick," he says to me. I nod and shrug.

"Come on. We've got to distance ourselves from the bloodbath." I grab Erric's arm and pull him away from the Cornucopia.

This arena is set up with various landscapes. The Cornucopia was at the bottom of a valley, surrounded by a huge forest that is cut off by large brown and white mountains. We were in a bowl, controlled completely by the Gamemakers.

_Don't be a piece of the puzzle, Marisse. _Peeta's words replay in my head as Erric and I troop forward. I think I realize what he means now. I'm not just a tribute. I am a person. And the Gamemakers need to know that. I just don't know how exactly to get the message across yet.

What I do know is that at this point, there are two strategies. The first is to team up with the person you want to bring to the victor's circle with you. An ally. A team mate. And the other strategy is to go it alone, and hope you can last unaided while the rest of us slaughter each other.

I've obviously got the first strategy.

As we get further and further away, the sun gets further away from _us _in the sky, and as it begins to dip over the mountains, the cannon goes off and the anthem appears in the sky. This time, they don't fire the cannon for each tribute's death. Too many, I suppose. I glance at Erric, who's wrapping up a gash he received while fighting at the Cornucopia. I realize we won't be able to sleep above ground, like I wanted, and instead will have to hole up somewhere. We continue walking until we find a rocky outcrop, and I manage to find a hole in the rocks we can both squeeze into. Our supplies might get damp, but we'll make it.

"We should stay put for now. Stay as far away from the action as possible." I know that Valerius, Donella, Thor, and Lyka will probably team up, although I'm a little shaky on whether or not Nerissa and Alton will join the Career pack.

"Yeah. Let's go get food, see if we can find anyone else out here." Erric leads the way into the forest, and I decide to scout separately because, to be completely honest, Erric is heavy. He's heavy-footed and loud, and he'll scare away all the animals. Like a lot of the kids my age, I'd gone hunting in the woods beyond the fence, although unlike the others, I didn't stop after one trip. I'd gone a few times. I was no master hunter, nothing like Katniss, but I managed to hold my own.

The anthem plays in the sky, and I stop to see the pictures of the dead.

They flash up in numerical order, as always. Three of the people from District 1; both of the boys and one of the girls. Valerius, one of the original tributes, is dead, and Donella managed to survive. Both of the new tributes from District 2; Thor and Lyka managed to survive. District 3 lost one of its girls, a small thing named Brianne. District 4 shows up, and I see that one of the new tributes died, but Nerissa and Alton survive. I'm almost relieved to hear it. District 5 has lost _all _its tributes, and as the faces flash by, I realize that both of 5's original tributes got extremely low scores (a 4 and a 3, I think). It makes sense that nobody made it. Districts 6, 7, and 8 all only lost one boy. District 9 lost both the original tributes, but the new ones are still alive. District 10 lost both its girls. District 11 lost the new tributes. And District 12…we've only lost Tanya. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

There are 27 of us left. All that slaughter, and we haven't even cleared the halfway mark.

The anthem plays as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. I use the fading light to spot a rabbit nibbling on some grass a few yards away. Slowly, I creep forward, pulling a knife and bursting into action, letting it rip at the rabbit. But as soon as I release, something cracks behind some bushes and I freeze, pulling another knife as the rabbit darts away, unscathed. Crap. Whoever it was, they frightened off my food. I can only hope there is some food in my pack.

I slowly step forward, and the other person bursts out of the trees just as I lunge forward with the knife. I'm face-to-face with Derrick, his arrowhead inches from my chest and my knife centimeters from his nose. We both stay this way for a second, staring each other down, panting. Deciding if we are enemies again, or instead uneasy allies.

Derrick drops his bow first, and as soon as my knife hits my belt, he steps forward and takes my face in his hands, pressing his mouth on mine. He stops, and his lips hover just above mine. "Madly in love, remember?" he whispers before pulling fully away. I'd never had any idea Derrick could be this…gentle. Every memory I had of him was laced with annoyance.

"You made it," I said, sounding a little too relieved to be believable.

"Managed to fight my way out," he says with a smirk. The amused expression fades as the cannon blasts again, marking that there are only 26 of us left, and he looks at me, his blue eyes piercing my own. "Marisse," he says, "I know your brother is here. And I just wanted to tell you that if you have to choose between me and him, I want you to choose him."

Well, of course. I mean…my feelings for Derrick were mixed. Honestly. I could never decipher when he was faking it or when he was honest. But sometimes he looked at me in a way...and I could swear it was something more than our fake courtship.

"Don't think that way," I said. My plan, up until now, was to avoid Derrick completely. Let someone else finish him off for me, so I wouldn't _have _to choose. I had hoped to avoid that decision. But if the time ever came, I know I could never abandon my brother. My family.

"You're far too sweet for this game, Marisse," he says, and kisses my nose, running a hand along my cheek. I looked up at him, wanting so badly to see deception, but his gorgeous blue eyes were crystal clear and true.

_Stop._ I have to keep myself back, and instead only nod.

"It's best we split up," I say, my voice thick.

His expression hurts me more than any wound I'll receive in these Games.

"You're right." He shakes his head, as if warding off grogginess. Derrick pulls me into a tight hug. "I'll see you again, Marisse. I swear," he whispers in my ear before kissing the side of my head. And with that he turns, disappearing into the forest.

xxx

I managed to take down a couple fat squirrels before the sun began to set. Erric and I made a small fire before the dusk faded, and it camouflaged the smoke and the flames. I used the plants around us to make a fire that burned with smoke that wasn't too dark, and we managed to get the squirrel meat cooked. But as soon as the meat was cooked, we took it and bolted as far away from the ashes as possible, finding our way back to the small cave we've hidden in, just as the darkness begins to creep over the woods.

I put away the squirrel meat and look around in my black pack. Aside from the water bottle attached to the side, it's full of useful things. Sunscreen. Two bags of beef jerky. Some anti-bacterial wipes. A pair of gloves and a jacket that match, in a dark forest green. And, finally, a small package of Capitol crackers, delicate and made of white flour. I pull four out and give two to Erric and take two for myself. I don't know what the Gamemakers have planned for this fourth Quarter Quell, but I have a feeling it's gonna be hell.

xxx

Erric and I fly under the radar, moving quickly from place to place. For the first week or so, we are merely taking up space in the arena. I haven't killed anyone yet, and neither has Erric. We stay low, flying under the radar. We don't run into the Career Pack, thank goodness. When I see the one-week-banner (they mark the weeks in the sky, now; another new addition to the games, probably to provoke strategy when it gets boring) come up in the sky next to the deaths, I smile to myself. By the time seven days have passed, the numbers have lowered significantly, to seventeen. The Career pack is still intact, with Donella, Thor, Lyka, and the new tribute from District 4. Alton and Nerissa have made it this far as well. As for the rest of the tributes—I'm not sure. I haven't been paying enough attention.

I'm a little suspicious of what the Game Makers have planned. The arena hasn't thrown anything deadly at us yet. The key word is _yet._ I have no idea what they are going to put us through, but it isn't going to be easy. I know the arena is usually booby trapped, but Erric and I haven't run into anything, and so far, the games have been almost…easy.

But one can never speak so soon.

On the eighth morning I wake up to laughter. Laughter that sounds so familiar that, for a moment, I think I'm stuck in a dream. I raise my head from my pack, which I'd been using as a pillow, and look up to see…my little sister?

Donica laughs, her hands covering her mouth as if she has some type of secret. But there's something wrong with her…and then I see it. Her eyes. They aren't the same dark green, like Erric's, that they've always been. They're black as night, with a white pupil shining brightly in the center. I see the Capitol emblem stamped in red ink on her neck.

She's not Donica. She's not my sister.

I try to think that as she removes her hand from her mouth, and I see her smile. Her teeth are pointed, not naturally, but artificially. She looks like some type of…animal.

"No," I say, as she steps closer, wielding a knife that she pulls from her dress pocket. "Erric," I whisper, "Erric, get up! Please!"

My brother opens his eyes slowly, and then sees Donica. His eyes snap wide open. "What the hell—the Capitol," he says, answering his own question. She steps closer with another giggle, and I'm frozen. I can't move. What am I supposed to do, kill her? I can't kill my little sister!

"I can't do it," I whimper, my eyes tearing and spilling over. "I can't Erric, I can't."

"I know," he says.

I hold my fists over my ears and squeeze my eyes shut, but I open one. I can't help it. I see Erric take the knife from my sister. She immediately turns vicious, gnashing with pointed teeth, managing to scrape my brother's arm. Donica is an animal now, growling so loudly I can hear her through my fists. I see Erric get a grip on her head, ready to twist her neck.

My eyes snap closed again, my fists clutched over my ears, as he snaps her neck.

xxx

I cry for what feels like forever. Erric pats my back, tells me it wasn't her, but I can hear in his voice that he is shaken too. After all, that _was _my sister. Or at least, it looked and sounded like her. But those teeth…and her eyes…

When I've finally pulled myself together, I insist on going hunting. We won't be able to cook it, but we can dry the meat out on the rocks nearby if we are patient enough. I finally convince Erric that I am okay to go, and set out to hunt.

I walk quietly through the trees when I hear someone coming. It has to be another one of those Capitol drones, like the clone of Donica. None of the tributes would be _this _loud. It's as if this drone wanted to be seen.

I hide behind a bush, and watch for the drone. It stumbles out of the forest blindly, to the clearing I'm hidden in. I recognize the face of Derrick's father, the butcher. My stomach tightens. I hear a voice from the trees.

"Dad! Wait, please!" I recognize Derrick's voice, and my stomach twists even further. Derrick is going to get himself killed if he keeps yelling like that. I step out of the bushes, raising a knife. I know if I don't kill the butcher, Derrick won't be able to. The butcher's black eyes fall on me, and he glares at me, one of his pointed teeth sticking out from below his lip.

I raise the knife and let it fly, and it sticks solidly between the butcher's black eyes. I stick my foot on his shoulder and reach down to pull out the knife, realizing that I have to hurry away before Derrick—

"Marisse?" he says.

I curse under my breath. I haven't seen him for eight days, and he'd fallen to the back of my mind. But seeing him here opened fresh wounds, so to speak. And he was seeing me again for the first time, pulling a knife out of his father's head. As I put the knife back into my belt, I sighed and found the courage to meet his eyes.

"What did you do?" he said, his blue eyes brimming with anger.

"Derrick, he's not—" I start to explain, but Derrick had already cleared the distance between us, grabbing my arms just below the shoulders and looking at me, his face twisted in anger.

"You killed him!" he said, sounding crazed, "You killed my father!"

"Derrick—" My voice came out in a whisper as Derrick gave me a hard shake.

"You killed him," he repeated, his voice low this time.

"That isn't your father," I say, pulling myself away from him. My own anger bubbled in my stomach, and I pointed to the butcher's eyes, still wide open but empty. "See those eyes, Derrick? See how black they are? And those teeth?" I reach over with the toe of one boot and lift the butcher's lip to expose his sharpened teeth. "Those don't belong to your father. This is Capitol property." I point to the emblem on the dead drone's neck.

I can only wonder why Derrick looked so completely destroyed; after all, the butcher was the man who had gotten Derrick in trouble at school, by making him stay home to help out in the shop. The man who, on the rare occasion Derrick did go to school, sent him there covered in yellow and black bruises, and the occasional black eye. The man who yelled so loud the neighbors two blocks over could hear him. It made me wonder why Derrick was so upset—not that he would be happy to see his father die, of course, but I expected him to be cool and calm. Right now he seemed so…open.

"I…" Derrick looked completely helpless, as if he wanted to believe all that I had said, but couldn't. I thought he was going to cry, but instead, he pulled me into his arms. "Thank you for doing it. Before I had to," he said into my hair. I bit my lip and simply wrapped my arms around him, not trusting my voice right now.

"That's sweet," a voice said. I pulled my head from Derrick's chest, looking up to see the Career Pack. I see Thor step out from the trees, his burly arms crossed over his chest. Donella, Lyka, and the new District 4 tribute all follow. I can't remember her name for the life of me. In an instant, Derrick's bow is loaded and the arrow is ready to fly. Just as quickly, my hand pulls a knife from my belt. Thor laughs. "It's four on two. But your effort is cute."

Out of nowhere, a spear flies through the air and buries itself in Lyka's chest, sending the brown-haired girl falling to the ground. Thor whips around, and when he turns back to face us, he's shocked. And so are Derrick and I, but we don't falter.

"Now we're even," Erric says, stepping out from the woods behind me, a knife in his hand. Thor's eyes take us in, and he knows that he wouldn't be able to take both Derrick and Erric. Maybe he could have taken me and Derrick alone, but now that I have backup, he's not nearly as sure as he was before.

His gaze wavers, and Thor glares at us. "Don't think you're on offense right now. Trust me, you're on defense." And then, he gives a nod to Donella and the District 4 girl, and they all disappear into the woods. Erric steps forward, pulling the spear from Lyka's chest with a wince. While he does this, I think about the Career Pack. I know from previous Hunger Games that the Career Pack usually consists of five or six people, though only three or four are made to be "offensive" players, who go out to kill. The other two or three guard the Career Pack's supplies and are usually from District 3 or 4, where they are handy at making things such as bombs or nets to trap people.

So Thor, Donella, and that District 4 girl must be the offensive set. That means they've got a couple more kids back at their camp. I think of how to handle the Career Pack, because if left unchecked, they could easily take out all the individual players in the game before finally turning on each other.

And then I realize—I have a little pack of my own. The District 12 pack. After all, with Derrick's talent with a bow, my talent with a knife, and Erric's brute strength, we could be a pretty good match against the Career Pack.

"We shouldn't be on defense," I say suddenly, shaking my head.

"What?" Erric cocks an eyebrow at me.

"We shouldn't be on defense," I say. "We should break the rules. Do something nobody from District 12 has ever done. We should be on offense."


	6. Chapter 6

6

Derrick actually laughed at me.

"Offense? You could never kill anyone, Marisse. Nice try," he said, chuckling. I furrowed my brow in anger. I could kill someone, if I _really _wanted to. I think Derrick was underestimating me.

"No…think about it, Derrick. What if we pick the Career pack off one by one? They won't know who's doing it, but they're definitely not going to consider us. District 12 has the lowest amount of kills in Hunger Games history, and they know that." What I said was true. District 12, in all the Hunger Games, has always come in dead last in the kill count. Most of the time it was because our tributes got picked off in the first couple of days. But all in all, District 12 had always been a defensive district, never offensive. Nobody would see us coming.

"You would never do that," Erric said. I looked at him, furious.

"Why do neither of you think I can do this? I killed him, didn't I?" I say, nodding towards the butcher drone. "I'm stronger than you think I am."

"Killing a drone is a lot different than—" Erric started.

_District 12 is going to hate me for saying this_, I thought, before spitting out, "It's not that different. To them, everyone who is watching, we are drones. Entertainment drones. This is a game of survival, Erric, and to survive, you have to take out your predators."

Derrick stayed strangely silent.

Erric gave me a look. "If you think you can, I _know _that I can. I'm with you."

I glanced at Derrick. "And you?" I say quietly. He stays quiet, staring at the ground in thought.

He's debating whether or not to team up. I know that. Because there are so many risks. Because if Erric and I make it to the final three with him, we'll team up on him. Because in the middle of the night, Erric or I might decide to take out that option early, by ending him before we make it to the final three.

He's deciding whether or not to trust us.

Finally his eyes rise up to meet mine, and he gives his signature smirk. "Why not?"

xxx

The first member of the Career Pack to go is the District 4 girl. She often stays alone at the edge of their camp, by the woods, and is the easiest to pick off. I think she was only there to make the nets they use for trapping the others, because Thor and Donella seem utterly indifferent to her disappearance.

Our strategy is simple; we found where the Career Pack has camped, and we have been watching their routine, knowing when Donella, Thor, and the District 4 go out to "hunt" the others. They have two others who stay back to guard the supplies—a District 3 girl who has a real talent with bows and arrows, and a small boy from District 6 who I think has some type of disease, because he's constantly wringing his hands and twitching his head to the side. When we have finally gotten an idea of when the "hunting" party leaves, we try to decide who to take out first.

The natural idea seems to be the District 3 girl. The boy from District 6 wouldn't be a threat later on, and taking him out now would probably just be a courtesy. But as we watched the Career Pack further, I realized the District 4 girl didn't have any type of talent. She wasn't an asset to the team. And I think Thor was going to get rid of her anyway.

So I did him the favor one day while she was weaving nets in the woods.

Every bone in my body told me not to take her life, and I almost started crying while I did so. I had to practically bite my lip off to keep myself from crying loudly and giving away our position. I was surprised when I felt Derrick reach down and squeeze my hand, but I didn't pull away.

The second to go was the District 3 girl who guarded the supplies. To be completely honest, I don't know why Thor didn't take her to kill the others. She was _really _good, from what I saw. She often shot at the trees aimlessly while guarding the supplies, and could shoot the nearby birds through the eyes. And then I realized—she was doing this on purpose. If Thor saw her as a threat, he would use her to get to the final three, and then kill her. I knew he would, because his alliance with Donella was too strong to break. But if she wasn't a threat, he would keep her around and then leave her to let someone else finish her off.

It was exactly what he was doing with that District 6 boy. And when Derrick took both of them out one day with his bow and arrow, Thor looked surprised when he got back with Donella. At first, I think he thought someone had found his campsite. But we'd dragged them far out into the woods so it looked like they'd gone off before being killed.

I was shocked at how stupid Thor was. He had obviously been taking his ideas out of the Career Pack textbook; he had no strategic mindset whatsoever. If it was me…well, I'd never do something so sick and twisted, but if it _were _me, I would never be that dumb.

I would at least keep track of my people.

So I could understand Thor's paranoia when he was left with just Donella, and no other allies. He was alone, and his power in this game was gone. The tides had shifted. There was no more Career Pack. Only the 12 pack.

"Marisse," Derrick barked, jerking my roughly out of my thoughts.

"What?" I looked around quickly.

"You were spacing off." He lied back on the rock he was sitting on, shutting his eyes and running two hands through his hair. After all was said and done, and only Thor and Donella remaining from the Career Pack, there were twelve of us. The other day, I saw Nerissa come up on the death list, and my heart fell. What would Alton do? He really loved her. And as I think about Alton, I think about what might happen if Erric's name (or maybe even Derrick's name) ever showed up on that list. Erric had gone out to get water and food, and now that I thought of all the dangers, my stomach clenched. I hoped with all my heart that he came back. I regretted letting him go out alone.

"Was I?" I asked.

"Marisse," Derrick says, keeping his eyes closed, "What's going to happen if we get to the final three?"

My throat closes. I don't say a thing, because, honestly, I don't know what I'm going to say when I _do _have to answer that question. But, for now, I don't answer. Instead, I move over and cradle Derrick's face in my hands, making his wide blue eyes open, and they almost stop my heart. I press my lips softly to his face, first between his eyebrows, and then on his nose. Finally Derrick moves his neck up so his mouth is on mine, and suddenly there are no woods, and there are no other tributes, and there _are _no Games. There is only Derrick and I, his hands on my waist and the sunshine keeping us warm.

And then the cannon fires.

I glance up to the sky, waiting for the banner with the faces, but there isn't one. Instead, there is a large red banner with the world MISFIRE printed in large black letters. And instantly I think of my brother. Who else could it be?

"Marisse, don't—" Derrick knows what I'm thinking and grabs my wrist to keep me from running.

But I rip away and sprint away from Derrick and into the woods as fast as I can, my stomach churning and my lungs aching. A whir of green and brown pass by, but I have tunnel vision at the moment. My eyes search the woods, and my ears are alert, ready to pick up any small movement or noise that could lead me to Erric. My heart beats against my ribcage, sounding like the guns the Peacekeepers use, and I can't shake the picture of death from my mind. I move wildly through the woods, crashing through them and making what is probably a huge amount of noise. But I don't care. There is nothing else in the world right now—just me and the woods that separate me from my brother.

I almost step on him.

He is groaning, lying beneath a bush, a freshly killed rabbit beside him on the ground. There is the boy from District 11, his tan skin spattered by my brother's blood. Instantly I lunge like an animal, ripping the knife from his hand and slicing his throat with it. His eyes are still wide and stunned as he falls to the ground, dead.

I stand there for a moment, breathing heavy and staring at the dead District 11 boy. I realize after a moment that I don't hate him. I couldn't hate him, no matter how hard I tried. Because it wasn't his fault. We were just…animals.

Animals.

I had turned into an animal.

Instantly I turned around to face my brother, kneeling beside him and biting my lip. A rosebush of red blossoms bloomed on his shirt . Every part of me hurt suddenly as I grabbed Erric's arm. The adrenaline rush had gone from my veins, leaving me exhausted and shaken.

"Erric," I manage to whisper, a tear rolling down my nose and falling onto my hand. He stares up at me, his eyes startlingly aware.

"Marisse," he says quietly, his voice straining to be heard, "it's raining."

What? I can't help but chuckle dryly, my voice rough, "No it's not—"

As I speak, a single drop falls beside me. And then more and more come quickly. The arena's weather instantly changes, from a bright sunny day to a downpour. I wonder if there is any reasoning behind this, any action going on in the arena that might call for a sudden storm.

"See?" he says with a smile. "Marisse, listen. I'm—I'm sorry. For volunteering. They offered us so much money…I couldn't say no. And I'm sorry…for leaving you." My brother's words are split up by gasps and shudders, but I get his message loud and clear. And suddenly, it all makes sense. Why Erric was even here. Why they had placed him next to me. They wanted him to be here. They had _paid _him. They wanted him here because they wanted me to watch him die.

For the Capitol, it was a win-win: have me watch him die, and weaken me in the eyes of the audience and assure that I get almost no support, or have Erric and I make it to the final two and win, and get a heartwarming story to broadcast to the country.

They used us. They used us for entertainment. I knew they would do this to me, but not to my family.

"Erric, it's okay. It's okay," I say, biting my lip and trying to hold back the worst of my sobs. "I love you," I faintly whisper. Erric smiles, and grab his hand and squeeze.

"I love you too, kid," he manages to force out. With a shuddering exhale, my brother's beautiful forest-green eyes close and his hand goes limp, slipping out of mine and falling to the wet ground. The rain pounds down on us, and I let out a scream, one that sounds entirely inhuman and full of wretched pain. Because it is. My face turns to the sky, and, furious, I begin screaming.

"_You ANIMALS! You filthy, filthy ANIMALS!_" I let the ear-splitting screams rip across the arena, my face upturned to the rain and the cameras. And the Capitol knows exactly who I am talking to, I'm sure. I curse them to the moon and back before I finally stop, letting myself collapse, clutching at my brother's body.

"Marisse," a voice says, and gentle hands touch my shoulders. I jump and look up, startled. Through the rain, I see Derrick. "You have to go," he says tenderly, "Come on. Let him go."

I shake my head at first, my eyes tightly shut. But slowly and surely, Derrick peels me away from my brother just as the whir of a hovercraft fills the air. Both bodies are lifted into the sky, and a cannon fires twice.

The rain instantly stops and the sky clears. Marvel Wristage's voice suddenly fills the arena.

"Tributes! Congratulations on making it to the final Ten! You've fought your way to the top, ladies and gentlemen, and now that victory is so close, the ante is about to be upped. Sleep well tonight, tributes, because tomorrow, you never know where you're going to end up." And with that, the anthem played, and my brother's face and the District 11 boy's appeared in the sky.

Tears threaten to come again, and numbly, I feel Derrick wrap to arms around me, pulling me into the safety of his chest. With his cheek on my hair, he mutters bitterly, "Those incurable bastards."


	7. Chapter 7

****A/N: This is a short chapter, but thats because chapters 8 and 9 (maybe 10) will be the ending ones, and the longest****

7

I spend the night staring at the ground, watching tears drip down my nose and hit the moss, until eventually the tears stop coming and I'm left staring just at the moss. I keep expecting to hear him—his laugh, his heavy footsteps, his sighing. And instead all I hear is the occasional rustle from what seems to be a sizable distance away as Derrick stirs.

I watch as the sun comes up, and as it spreads light over the arena, I see things are _not _the same as they were when I went to sleep.

I sit up, wiping my puffy eyes to make sure I'm seeing this. Derrick and I are surrounded by thick green vines winding through tropical trees. The air is thick and warm, and I'm beginning to sweat already. I take off my green jacket and gloves, stuffing them in my backpack. Derrick sits up, and I see his expression change to shock as he takes in the surroundings.

"We should probably start moving. The others will be disoriented and scared, and they won't be afraid to jump us if they cross our path," I say, my voice robotic and flat.

"Sure," Derrick says, sounding almost…normal. He was talking to me like my brother _hadn't _died ten hours ago. I risk a glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and I see him glowering at his supplies as he packs up. I guess we're both forlorn and solemn today.

xxx

We hike for what seems like forever, looking for some type of water. Occasionally there's a leaf with a small puddle on it, but it's not nearly enough and isn't a constant source of water.

I pass by a tree for the third time and lose it.

"We're lost," I hiss, turning on the damned tree and shoving a knife as far into it as I possibly can. "FUCK!" I scream, my voice cracking at the end as my throat tightens up. My legs disappear from beneath me as I crouch on the ground, resting my forehead on my knee. I begin to babble as I sob, voicing my racing thoughts. "I can't…I can't Derrick, I can't!" I shake my head.

His arms find their way around me, a familiar gesture. "Yes, you can. I know you can. Shh. You can." His comforts help, but not much. All I can think of is my brother—and then my sister. Oh, Donica. If I don't come home, she'll die along with me.

A twig snaps, and instantly my and Derrick's heads shoot up, looking at the direction of the noise. We stand and I pull the knife from the tree I'd stabbed it into. I wipe my face slowly and carefully, my eyes darting across the forest.

I glance at Derrick, my eyes questioning. He nods quickly and then focuses ahead. I step forward slowly and peer into the forest. A pair of eyes look back at me, and I jump, raising my knife and preparing to throw.

"No! Don't!" Alton steps out of the forest quickly, his eyes pleading. "Can you—just listen. I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to ask you a favor."

He raises his hands in surrender. I notice how pale and sick he looks, his eyes full of suffering. He pulls up the leg of his pants to reveal his leg. I gasp and throw a hand over my mouth. You can see every vein, black against his skin, and it's sickeningly swollen. Green pus oozes from a small puncture by his ankle.

"Something bit me in the forest," he says, "and whatever is going on in my leg, it's spreading to my heart." He lifts his shirt and I can see every rib outlined in black, a small, untouched circle in the middle of his chest. His eyes begin to well up. "It just…it hurts so much. And my family—my brother…I just, I don't want him to see me suffer. I don't want them to see me rolling over like a sick dog. Can you—c-can you just…end it, for me?" he finally chokes out. My knees go weak.

"Alton, I can't—"

"I can." Derrick steps forward, putting a hand on Alton's shoulder. Alton nods in gratitude, and my mouth drops at Derrick's heartlessness.

I don't watch.

xxx

I glare at Derrick every second of the rest of the day. He doesn't make eye contact.

"How could you do that? How could you just slit his throat like it was nothing?" I finally burst out. Derrick looks up at me, eyebrows raised. I go on, "He was innocent and unarmed! How could you be so heartless?"

Derrick flat-out laughed. "Heartless? Marisse, please. I was being compassionate. He was going to die anyway, and it would have been extremely painful. I spared him the embarrassment. I saved him."

I shake my head, not seeing the logic in Derrick's explanation.


	8. Chapter 8

8

Throughout the night, the cannon fires six more times, and I realize…that makes me part of the final three. Me, Derrick, and one other. My heart skips a beat as I sit up in the early morning light.

New surroundings, once again. I shake Derrick awake as I take in our situation. All I can see is sand, and the sun on the horizon. The air is dry and the wind whips my hair around my face. The sky is clear and blue as the sun rises.

"No way," Derrick says. As far as I can see, there is only desert. There is no water, or any type of food. Just endless amounts of sand. This isn't an environment I could dream of living in for more than a day. And then, suddenly, I realize what this means.

They want us to end the Games now. They gave us nowhere to run or hide. They want a bloodbath.

I scramble up, looking around for the third person—the _only _person between me and winning these Games, once and for all. The person I need to kill.

"Hello!" I scream into the sand dunes, "Anyone out there?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Derrick says.

"I'm ending these Games as quickly and efficiently as possible," I say, glaring at him. Now that Erric's gone, there is nothing to protect. Nothing to love. Only an enemy that I need to extinguish.

The grief and sorrow had vanished, replaced by anger and the distinct longing to go home. I didn't care about anything anymore. I just wanted to kill the third person and go home.

Derrick's eyes give me a once over and his look is one of disgust. "You sound like them," he says, jerking his thumb at the sky.

"If I was like them I would have killed you already," I snapped back.

He opens his mouth in retort, but he's interrupted by a chuckle. We both whirl around and see the third competitor standing on a sand dune a few yards away, looking down at us with a strange glint in his eye. My breath catches in my throat.

Thor.

He steps down from the sand dune, and my hand flashes to my knife belt. But before I can grab the knife, Thor throws something dark towards me, and it lodges in my side as I try to get away. I let out a groan and look down, pulling the hand-carved dart from my side. It's not big, and only leaves a hole the size of a coin in my side. But as soon as I pull it out, a fire flares out from my stomach and I crumble to the ground, my vision blurring. I'm not aware of what's going on around me, and only vaguely realize Derrick's fighting Thor. I'm more focused on the burning pain that flares from where the dart struck me. I look down and, in horror, I see my flesh literally rotting away.

Too late, I realize the dart was obviously poisoned.

A piece of flesh comes off in my hand as I gently prod the wound, and I scream as loud as I can. This isn't happening. This isn't happening.

I'd known that my chances of losing the Hunger Games were incredibly high. But now that it was actually happening, I was scared. I was more scared than I'd ever been in my entire life. I was scared for my parents, I was scared for my sister, I was scared for District 12; I was scared for everyone. I didn't want my death to be televised. I didn't want my death to be entertainment.

I glance up at Derrick and Thor, and I can't see which one delivers the final blow to the other.

And yet—miracle of miracles, the cannon fires and I start to sob in relief. We'd done it. We had won.

He walks over and crouches beside me, putting a hand beneath my neck and pulling me up to a sitting position. "It's over," he whispers, "You're okay."

I look up to his face—and scream, using the last of my strength to thrash away. "No! No, no, no! Please, oh God, no!" I shriek until my voice is hoarse and I can't breathe.

Because, it wasn't Derrick's face I saw when I looked up.

It was Thor's.


	9. Chapter 9

9

I kept screaming, as loudly as I could, until finally the hovercraft came. Thor picked me up, after several failed attempts. I thrashed against him and fought every second of the way, until he grabbed onto the ladder that fell from the hovercraft. It sent a current through us both and froze us in place. Thor's arm remained tight on my waist and I was frozen glaring at him. He wasn't anything special to look at—a scarred face and short blonde hair. His eyes were blue and they looked familiar, but I brushed off the feeling as the hovercraft's door shut behind us and we unfroze.

I resumed my screaming and thrashing until white-coated doctors stuck a needle in my arm and things began to go black. Thor grabbed my hand as I was strapped down to a gurney, and I ripped away from him.

"Don't you _dare _touch me! Don't!" I screeched, adding a long string of curses to the end before finally blacking out completely.

xxx

It seemed like years that I slept. But finally, after eons of blackness, I opened my eyes groggily. I wasn't strapped down anymore, thank goodness. I was in a plain white bed, wearing a thin white nightdress. I looked around the room, and only saw an observation window, one so tinted I couldn't see the other side. I barely made out the outline of a door beside the observation window. I put a hand to my throbbing head.

The memories came flooding back as I sat up, and emptily, I stared at the wall. I'd lost Erric _and _Derrick. I couldn't protect them. And now look at me. I would be sharing the victor's glory with _Thor. _

I put my head in my hands. Faintly, I heard the door open and shut. Slowly, I pulled my head from my hands and glanced up.

My heart skipped. No. No, no, no. This was impossible—it just couldn't—this was a Capitol trick or something. This couldn't be real. I had _watched _him die. I was there! And yet here he was, in the flesh, standing in my room and looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes.

"Derrick—" I managed to choke out, before flying across the room and throwing myself into him. My arms wrapped tightly around his neck and I buried into his shoulder. His arms wrapped around my waist, pulling my toes off the floor. "Oh my God, oh my God, Derrick, I thought you were dead, I can't believe—you're alive—I just…I watched—I saw Thor—how?" I stumbled over my words.

"Thor poisoned the dart with the venom of a tracker-jacker he found in the forest. It made you see things. It wasn't Thor you saw at the end—that was me." Derrick set me down and looked at me intently. "They've been replaying your meltdown for the past few days."

I couldn't speak. I was frozen in place. "But—I…," I started, and then shook my head. It all made sense—how familiar Thor's eyes were, how I was almost certain it was Derrick who had delivered the final blow.

And almost losing him—it caused a heat to flare up in my stomach, and not just for the cameras, either.

"Derrick, I—I love you." I took his face in my hands and pressed my mouth on his. His hands were warm on my hips, even through the nightdress. I pressed against him and knew, suddenly—he was mine. He was all I wanted, and all I needed.

"I was waiting for you to say that," he said with a smirk. "I love you too, Marisse."

xxx

My parents hugged me tightly, until I could barely feel my ribs.

"We're so proud of you," my dad said.

"And your brother," my mom added. My parents both looked so tired—it made my heart fall. They both step aside as Donica jumps into my arms.

"Marisse, is Erric staying at the arena for awhile?" Her innocent question breaks my heart.

My throat immediately closes, and yet I manage words. "Yeah, Donnie, he is."

We're sitting in a nice Capitol hotel, waiting for Brihanna to get here so I can be styled for the post-game show. It's so strange for my family to only be four people. It makes the room feel empty and gray.

This is why I leap up when Brihanna pulls up to the hotel in a shiny black car. I hug my parents one more time, and kiss Donica's forehead before I leave. I let myself pause at the door for a moment, taking a deep breath before I step outside and slide into the car. Brihanna is there, as beautiful as ever, and, to my surprise, Katniss is there, too.

Katniss smiles at me. "That was probably the greatest freak out I've ever seen on the Hunger Games," she says with a grin, and we all laugh. "Tracker-jacker venom's a killer, isn't it?" she says, and I nod, not trusting my voice. I can't seem to trust anything about myself lately.

Brihanna and Katniss talk on the way to the studio, and I look out the window, preparing myself for tonight. I know they'll be replaying every single death—including Erric's—and I need to be ready for it. I can't help but be curious about the little girl Avis Flynn. I never did get the chance to protect her and follow through on that plan.

We pull up to the studio, and the long walk in is hell. Everyone stares at me, and a few even snap pictures. Thankfully, we duck into a room and lock the door behind us. Mischa, Glamour, and Bresco rushed me at the door, mumbling about how happy they were I made it and how they knew I had the guts to win the whole thing. Brihanna waves them away, and my makeover begins.

xxx

I'm scrubbed head to toe in soap that smells like oranges. My hair is washed and the ends are trimmed. My nails are filed and scrubbed, and all my scars have disappeared, even ones from before the Games. My skin is soft and fresh. I was nearly unblemished—except for one tiny puckered scar in my side, from where Thor threw the dart. The tracker-jacker venom had set in so much that they couldn't get rid of that scar, but other than that I was a completely blank slate.

Mischa painted my toenails as Glamour worked on my fingernails. Bresco worked on my hair while Brihanna talked quietly with Katniss. My hair is curled and set so it frames my face. Bresco then switches to doing my makeup, which is kept simple—some eyeliner and mascara.

Brihanna tells me to shut my eyes as my feet are placed into heels and my dress is slipped over my head. I hear a tiny gasp from Glamour and I open my eyes.

The dress is simple enough—a low cut front and a skirt that falls past my knees at an angle. My feet are tied up in simple black gladiator heels. But it's the color of the dress that amazes me.

It's actually flickering. I don't know how Brihanna managed it, but she made me look as if I were a candle. The bottom is blue, and slowly it fades into orange and red tones, with the top being a pretty yellow. And even when I don't move, the dress flickers like a candle flame.

"Brihanna," I say, "You're amazing." She smiles.

"I only make the dresses. You're the one who pulls them off." She grins as a buzzer goes off above the door. "Well, hon, that's your cue."

Katniss and I go towards the studio doors. She looks at me. "You have to be stone out there. Cool and confident, and three steps ahead of Caesar Flickerman. Okay?"

"I—I think I can do that," I say quietly. Katniss takes my hand and squeezes it.

"I know you can do that," she says, and then disappears to take her seat with Peeta in the audience. I take a deep, shaking breath and stare at my hands until I feel someone standing behind me. I turn slowly and see Derrick.

"You—you look…" he trails off. I've never seen Derrick at a loss for words until now. He kisses my nose. "Are you ready?"

"No," I say, and he laughs.

"It's not that bad."

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Charismatic," I say, running my hand down the sleeve of his shirt, which is made from the same material as my dress.

"Like I said before—you're too sweet for this game, Marisse," he says. The buzzer above the doors goes off, and we both jump. I grab Derrick's hand and hold onto it tightly.

"This is gonna suck," I say quietly.

xxx

All smiles, Derrick and I take our seats on a small white loveseat next to Caesar's desk. He hushes the crowd and turns to us. I can barely perceive a predatory glint in his eyes—we're fresh meat.

"Welcome, victors. Winning the 100th Hunger Games will surely go down in history, don't you think?" Caesar says with a smile.

We nod and laugh.

"Now, this year's Games were one of the most exciting—the first surprise came at the very beginning, when the number of tributes was doubled." Caesar nodded towards the large screen to my left, and they replayed the new tributes coming out. They zoom in on my face as Erric is raised up, and I look away, blushing. "Modest as ever, Marisse," Caesar says, noting my shying away, "It's hard to believe you were one of the 'Unstoppable Ironwoods,' as we called you here in the Capitol."

Again, we all nod and laugh, playing our parts. As they begin recapping the Games, I know Erric's death will be replayed in full, just for me. I remember what Katniss told me—cool and confident.

The clip of his death seemed to be a full five minutes, though I know it was only a few seconds. They cut out the part where I screamed at the sky, as I knew they would. My stomach tightens and I wipe away a few tears, with Derrick's help, and as his thumb runs across my cheek, there's a collective sigh from the audience. Caesar is smart enough not to ask me any questions about Erric.

It turns out Avis Flynn wasn't killed by anyone. She got caught in a landslide, her leg pinned beneath a rock, and she starved to death. In a way, I was glad she wasn't killed by anyone; it made her look even stronger. Only nature could take her down.

As the replay continued, I realized how truly awful I looked. I was thin and bony, and completely covered in cuts and bruises. There were dark bags beneath my eyes and my lips were pale and chapped. I was a complete mess.

Finally, _finally _the replay got to the end and I saw things correctly for the first time. Thor and Derrick, fighting hand in hand on the sand dunes. I saw Thor whisper in Derrick's ear with a smirk, and Derrick completely lost it, jumping on top of Thor and wailing at his face until his knuckles split open. Derrick's fingers locked around Thor's neck, and he held the struggling boy down as he choked out his last few breaths.

And, of course—the replay of my freak out. I looked completely ridiculous. Derrick tried to grab me, but I kept smacking him away, acting like he was the plague.

Caesar turned to us with a smile as the Capitol emblem appeared on the screen.

"Marisse. That was…interesting," Caesar said with a chuckle. I plastered on a smile.

"The funny story is, Caesar," I said, "Thor poisoned the dart with tracker-jacker venom. So while it ate away at me, I began seeing things, and I could have sworn on my life that it was Thor who picked me up and carried me to the hovercraft, not Derrick. I was so angry and disappointed in myself—for not protecting him or my brother, and even for not dying sooner so he could win." My gaze stayed locked on Caesar, waiting for him to respond, daring him to look away first.

He did.

"Well, we can definitely all understand your position Marisse. And now, Derrick, for the one thing _everyone _is simply _dying _to know: what exactly did Thor say to get you to go animal like that?" Caesar's gaze flickered to Derrick, and I felt his hand clutch mine tighter.

"It isn't exactly TV-appropriate, Caesar. I'll have to skip that question," Derrick said with a satisfied smile.

xxx

The rest of the show was filled with the normal questions, and I answered every single one. The show dragged on forever, it seemed, but finally Caesar said goodbye for the night and the red lights on the cameras shut off. We shook hands with Caesar and he congratulated us, rather half-heartedly, like everyone else.

A black limo waited outside of the studio. Katniss and Peeta sat on one side of the limo, and Derrick and I sat on the other. As soon as we got in, Katniss, as usual, went straight to the heart of the matter.

"So," she said, fixing Derrick with one of her puma-like gazes, "what did Thor say?"

"I really don't want to repeat it," he said. But at Katniss's disappointed gaze, he added, "He threatened Marisse." Derrick jerked his head at me. Katniss nodded.

"If I'd known you could fight like _that _I would've put money on you," she said with a small smile.

"I didn't think I could fight like that," Derrick snorted.

"I understand," Peeta said, his voice soft as ever.

The rest of the ride home was eerily quiet. We arrived at our hotel and Katniss and Peeta went off to take care of Mayella. My family was already asleep, and Derrick's father hadn't bothered to come, something I felt horrible about, even though I had nothing to do with it.

I brushed my fingers across Erric's necklace before ducking into my room. I changed into a pair of light green pajamas, the silk comforting on my skin. I left my hair curly. I rather liked it that way. Staring at myself in the mirror, I wiped away the makeup on my eyes and rubbed off the last of my lipstick. The only evidence that I'd ever been on television was the red ringlets that fell around my face.

I gripped the edge of the sink, watching the water drip into the drain. I took a deep, shuddering breath and then looked at myself in the mirror, realizing that this face—my face—was the face of a killer.

I shook my head, as if that would wipe away the children I'd mercilessly murdered.

I walked out of the bathroom and over to the balcony. It seems like the best place to be right now. I rested my elbows on the railing and stare out at the Capitol lights, endless parties celebrating the end of the Hunger Games. I see my face—and Derrick's—plastered across several billboards and huge television screens.

We were probably the two most celebrated murderers of all time.

A knock on my door startles me from my macabre thoughts, and I go and open it. Derrick stares back at me, his expression grim.

"Are you as depressed as I am right now?" he asks, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.

I nod towards the balcony and towards the Capitol's bright lights. "I just can't believe how much they're celebrating a mass murder."

"It isn't right." Derrick shakes his head and his lips form a tight line. I suddenly think of Mayella, sleeping peacefully down the hall from us. If I were Katniss—if she were my daughter—would I want her to live in a world like this? Where innocent children are punished for the past adults' crimes?

Do I want _myself _living in a world like this?

But I put all that aside for now. Instead I take Derrick's face in my hands, kissing him and pouring all my emotions into his kiss. His hands slide under my shirt, red-hot against my skin. My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I only break the kiss to pull it over his head, my hands splaying out across his chest.

That night, I forget all about the Capitol and the Hunger Games and innocent children dying. All I know is Derrick, and the feel of his skin on mine.

That night, I love him.


	10. Chapter 10 End of Part I

10

Victors Village was eerie.

It was winter in District 12, and the ice and snow only made the empty houses look even more foreboding. Katniss and Peeta decided to move back into Victors Village for a short while, if only for public reputation. I didn't mind. Surprisingly, Katniss was easier to talk to than my own mother. I think it's because we understood each other better, that we had more in common than I first thought.

Derrick's father stays in his little butcher's shop, leaving Derrick alone in that huge house. I can't imagine spending gray winter days in these huge houses all by myself.

We had been staying in Victors Village for about two months when I realized something that _hadn't _happened at all since we'd been there. Something feminine that _always _happened _every _month.

Immediately I called Katniss. There was _no _way I was telling my mother. She would come after me with a knife.

"Hello?" she said, picking up the phone.

"Katniss. We have kind of a problem."

"A problem? What kind of problem?"

"I need to see a doctor. _That _kind of problem," I said, my voice wavering.

"Well, can't your mom take you?" she replied, yawning.

"No. That's the thing. It's _that _kind of problem!" I hissed. She clearly wasn't getting the message, here!

"Oh. Oh! Oh my God!" Katniss finally said. "Of course! I'll call a car."

xxx

The doctor's office was gray and bleak; a lot like it was outside. There were diagrams on the walls and a bunch of scary-looking instruments on the table beside the examination bed. Katniss was waiting in the lobby, and I was left alone to wring my hands and wait.

Finally, the doctor came back in, holding a sheet of paper. "Well," she said, "it would appear you are perfectly healthy, Marisse, but I'm afraid you're correct; you _are_ in fact pregnant."

No.

xxx

Two days later I finally worked up the courage to walk to Derrick's house. I'd been avoiding him ever since I found out, and I didn't want to ever tell him. Of course, the doctor gave me the option of getting rid of it and, of course, I accepted the pill, but threw it out the window when I got home.

I wanted to keep this baby. I just didn't want anyone to know about it.

I put one hand on my stomach nervously before knocking on his door. It took him a few minutes, but he finally answered, his hair a mess and wearing just pajama pants that fell low on his waist. I swallowed thickly and could barely meet his questioning eyes.

"Derrick," I said, my voice weak, "Derrick, I'm…I'm pregnant."


End file.
